


Let Me Take You Down

by AmyPond45



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Character Deaths, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:02:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22548244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPond45/pseuds/AmyPond45
Summary: Sam thinks he knows what’s real. He thinks he lives in a world full of monsters. He thinks he grew up with a father who hunted them and a brother who wants to follow in their father’s footsteps. Sam thinks going to Stanford will let him live in the normal world for a while. He also thinks his online friendship and cybersex with “Jensen” is just a fantasy, an online affair that helps keep his mind off his loneliness. Then one day Dean shows up to show him just how wrong he is.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 15
Kudos: 70
Collections: Sam Winchester Big Bang 2019-20





	Let Me Take You Down

**Author's Note:**

> This story grew out of my love for The Matrix and my need to write an SPN story based on it. This was supposed to be my entry for this year’s SPN-Cinema challenge, but it was nowhere near done in time, so I managed to convince our lovely mod to let me enter it for this challenge instead. Many thanks to [JDL71](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jld71/pseuds/Jld71) for the quick beta!
> 
> Glorious art for this fic is by [small-scale-majestic](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/small-scale-majestic). Be sure to visit their post to give them some love!

//**//**//

Sam’s phone buzzes.

He rolls over in bed, grabs the phone off the nightstand, and flips it open.

It’s Jensen.

_Hey, buddy. How’s tricks?_

_Dude. It’s the middle of the night,_

_Just checking in on my favorite cyber buddy. Just had a dream about you._

_Yeah?_ This is bound to be kinky, so Sam gets up, careful not to wake Jessica. They’ve only been living together for a couple of months, and she’s used to his late-night online social life, but she doesn’t know about Jensen. Not really. _Switching to chat._

Sam pulls his laptop off the table and settles himself on the couch.

 _Can’t stop thinking about your ass,_ Jensen types.

 _You’ve never seen my ass,_ Sam types back.

_Tight, pert, hot. Like the rest of you only with a hole._

_Dude, I’ve got a mouth, too!_ Sam types indignantly.

_Love your mouth. Wanna put my dick in it._

_Okay,_ Sam types. He slides his hand down the front of his sweatpants, palms his cock through the material.

_You got your hand on your dick?_

_Oh yeah._

_Good. Real good. I wish I had two dicks so I could put one in your mouth and the other one in your ass at the same time._

_..._

_Yeah, that’s right. Show me what you got. I can see you lying on the couch, legs spread for me, letting me fuck you everywhere. That’s it. Now come for me._

Sam tips his head back, comes hard inside his sweatpants, wipes his damp hand off as he lies back on the couch, breathing deep as he comes down.

 _Yeah, baby_ Jensen’s words pop up on the screen. _You’re so good for me._

_Jensen?_

_Yeah, sweetheart?_

_Can I go back to sleep now? I’ve got an ethics exam in the morning._

_Course you can. Just don’t say you didn’t need that._

And the truth is, Sam did. Jensen always seems to know what he needs. It’s not the first time they’ve had cybersex, or even the twentieth. Even after he and Jessica started dating, Sam couldn’t cut Jensen off. He tells himself it wasn’t really cheating, since he doesn’t know Jensen in real life, but he feels guilty anyway.

Jensen’s been Sam’s lifeline for over three years. He’s his best friend. If it wasn’t for Jensen, Sam would have gone crazy by now, hiding himself away like he does, never letting anyone see the real Sam. Not even Jessica.

Especially not Jessica. She’s the key to the normal life Sam’s been hankering for since forever, but the truth is, it’s exhausting being her boyfriend. She lives her life in a bubble of suburban fantasies, her dreams of the future filled with white picket fences, kids and dogs. And it isn’t that Sam doesn’t see the appeal of those things. He does. It’s just that he knows better. He knows what’s out there.

And it’s not just the supernatural world of monsters and demons. There’s something else, something that’s controlling it all. Ever since Sam stumbled into a chat room full of gamers and hackers during the spring of freshman year, he’s been living a double life. These people are serious cyber nerds, but they’re also a kind of cult. They know things. Things about the supernatural world. Things about hunters and monsters and their place in the greater scheme of things.

They seem to be able to predict the future.

Jensen’s one of them. From the beginning, Sam felt as though he’d found a soulmate. It’s not just all the things they have in common: Jensen’s real life family are hunters, just like Sam’s. He leads a double life, just like Sam.

Actually, Sam’s leading a triple life. Jessica thinks he’s a normal college kid with family issues. It’s getting confusing.

Sam and Jensen talk about everything. Sam feels like he can share his anxieties about the hunting life and Jensen gets it. He sympathizes. He actually encourages Sam in his pursuit of a normal life. But he also sympathizes with Sam’s loneliness because he can’t confide in anyone in that world.

Recently, since Sam and Jessica got serious, Jensen has been suggesting that the real world may not be what Sam thinks it is.

At first, Sam figured Jensen was joking. Then Jensen started giving him little hints.

 _Your history teacher’s sister gets into a car accident tomorrow,_ Jensen tells him one night, and sure enough, it happens. During history class, Sam’s professor is called away, white-faced and in shock.

 _How did you know?_ Sam instant messages that night.

 _We should meet,_ Jensen answers.

It’s not the first time Jensen’s suggested they meet in real life.

Jensen thinks Sam’s name is Jared. They both know their names are fake. They know everything about each other. Jensen has a little brother, a real pain in the ass who thinks he can have a white-picket-fence life if he just goes to college for a few years. Jensen misses him like a hole in the heart, but he’ll never admit it. Sam can tell, though. Jensen gets monosyllabic when he talks about his brother.

Sam tells Jensen about Dean. He tells Jensen everything. He doesn’t go into lurid detail about his feelings for Dean, but Jensen gets it anyway. Of course he does.

It’s such a relief to confide in someone. Sam’s never quitting Jensen as long as he lives.

But meeting him in real life is a different matter. Once he knows Jensen in the real world, their relationship will gain physical substance. He’ll have to tell Jessica about Jensen. It won’t be fair if he doesn’t.

That’s the clincher. After two months of cohabiting with his girlfriend, Sam’s beginning to unravel. Hiding his true selves from Jessica is overwhelming. She understands that he’s been damaged by the way he was raised. She sympathizes with his nightmares, accepts the way he keeps a knife tucked under the mattress, a handgun in the nightstand. But she thinks he can get better. She thinks she can fix him.

But Sam’s broken in ways Jessica can’t ever fix. She can’t ever know how messed up he is. It’s far safer for her to keep believing in the stable future she craves. The more he learns about the crazy and weird all around him and how deep it really goes, the more he’s sure he can’t drag Jessica into that. Sam needs Jessica to have the life she deserves.

He owes her that.

 _We should meet,_ Jensen suggests again, and this time Sam doesn’t refuse.

//**//**//

“Dean?”

The dance floor is crammed with sweaty bodies, the music unbearably loud. It’s one of those campus clubs where the booze is cheap and the lighting makes everybody look a little dangerous. Sexy.

Sam would know those strong shoulders and bow legs anywhere. When Dean turns, the old familiar shock of lust and sheer joy surges through Sam, momentarily taking his breath away.

Then annoyance crowds in, just as familiar, and he frowns at his brother.

“What are you doing here?”

Dean doesn’t smirk, doesn’t look him up and down in that infuriating way that’s half teasing, half daring him to admit how much Sam wants the one person he can’t have.

Instead, he meets Sam’s gaze with a steady, meaningful look that makes Sam’s gut clench. He’s suddenly sure Dean’s here with bad news.

“We need to talk.”

“Is it Dad?” Sam shouts over the music. “Is he okay?”

Dean shakes his head sharply, and Sam breathes a sigh of relief. After the way Sam left, part of him expects never to see his dad again. John’s obsession for revenge and his sheer recklessness has always been a recipe for disaster. Now that John’s getting older and his reflexes are slower, some monster is just bound to take him out. It’s only a matter of time.

All Sam can hope for is that John doesn’t get Dean killed when he goes down. Sam thinks he could survive his dad’s death, but not Dean’s.

“Dad’s fine,” Dean shouts. “I need to talk to you about your dreams.”

“What?” Sam’s not sure he’s hearing right. It sounds like Dean just said something about Sam’s dreams, which doesn’t make sense. He hasn’t told anyone about that, not even Jensen. Definitely not Jessica. They’re too disturbing.

Dreaming about watching your girlfriend burn to death on the ceiling the way your mother died is just freaky. Some kind of oedipal nightmare. Definitely not something to talk about with anybody, least of all the brother who’s been the star of far too many fantasies himself.

Dean leans in close, so he says the words directly into Sam’s ear, so that he doesn’t have to shout. “They’re demon-blood visions. Death omens.”

Dean’s breath on Sam’s skin makes his dick twitch.

“What?” Sam pulls back so he can stare at Dean, see if he can read anything teasing in his tone or his face.

“It’s true, Sam,” Dean says. “I’m telling you the truth. If you don’t come with me now, your girlfriend is gonna die.”

Sam stares, flabbergasted. “Go with you? Why would I go with you? Go where?”

Dean leans in close again and Sam can’t help the tingling rush of pleasure that flows down his spine. He’s hard in his jeans and grateful for the darkness.

“I know who you are,” Dean says. “Who you _really_ are, Jared.”

Sam starts, turns to stare at Dean in shock. Of course their faces are only an inch apart, their mouths so close Sam can feel Dean’s breath, his warmth. He can smell Dean’s aftershave.

“What did you just say?” The words whisper over Dean’s lips, and Dean smiles, lifts his eyes to Sam’s. 

Deep pools of green stare up at him, a little cross-eyed this close, and the temptation to kiss that smug look off Dean’s face is powerful. Sam could grab the upper hand by doing that. There’s no way Dean would expect it. Dean thinks he’s little Sammy, the kid brother who doesn’t know his ass from his elbow. Dean can’t imagine what Sam’s been up to since he started Stanford, what Sam’s discovered.

 _Jared._ How the hell does his brother know that name?

Dean nods, holding Sam’s gaze. “I’m Jensen.”

Oh, _hell_ no. Sam’s eyes widen in shock. Disbelief.

At the same time, it makes sense. It’s the logical explanation that makes so many things fall into place. The way Jensen knew so much about him, the way he teased and flirted and seemed to guess Sam’s moods. The way he seemed to _know_ Sam.

The sex.

“The hell you are!” Sam raises his fist, tightens his jaw.

Dean grabs the lapels of Sam’s jacket and shoves in close, holding his gaze.

“Think about it, Sam! You know it’s true!”

Sam’s mind races. All the conversations, all the revelations, all the predictions. The weird moments when Sam felt sure that Jensen knew him _too_ well, like he’d gotten under Sam’s skin.

The sex.

“Why? Why now?” Sam shouts.

“The Matrix is trying to control you. It wants you to go down the same road it sent Dad down, all those years ago. And to do it, it’s gonna kill your girlfriend.” Dean takes a breath, shakes Sam. “But you don’t have to go down that road, Sam. You can choose! Tonight. Right now.”

Sam blinks. “The Matrix?” He’s heard the word, but only in passing. Whenever he comes across a discussion in a chat room and the word comes up, nobody answers him when he asks about it. Everybody just leaves the room. “What’s the Matrix?”

“Come with me and find out,” Dean says. He backs off, lets his arms swing loose, but Sam’s not fooled. He knows how his brother moves, how he’s always ready for anything.

_Dean’s okay with the sex._

That’s what blows Sam’s mind. He’s not really surprised about the rest of it, and although he’s curious as hell about this shadowy thing called The Matrix, he’s absolutely gob-smacked about the idea that Dean is Jensen.

“You lied to me!” Sam blurts, accusing. “For _years!_ And now you want me to come with you?”

Dean licks his lips, flinches, looks away. “Yeah, well, I thought it was for the best.”

“How was it for the best?” Sam shouts. “Huh? How is lying to me for three years, pretending to be somebody else... How is that a good thing in any way, Dean?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I thought you’d be safe,” he says. “I thought you could have the normal life you wanted.” He raises his eyes, stares hard at Sam. “I was wrong. Okay? I was wrong.”

Sam clenches his fists. “And that’s not even the worst of it,” he yells as the music pounds. Half of him wishes they could go somewhere private to do this. But the other half needs the adrenaline rush of the atmosphere here — the loud, dark, crowded club. Shouting at Dean feels good right now. “You made me think my brother didn’t want to see me. All those years, you never called...”

“Would you have picked up?” Dean counters, and Sam knows he’s got a point. Sam was so angry at Dean for siding with their dad, all those years ago.

“What about Dad?” Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head. “What about him?”

“Where does he think you are right now?”

Dean looks away again, huffs out a small laugh. “On a hunt, I guess,” he says. “Same as him.”

Sam’s shocked. “He lets you hunt alone?”

Dean looks up, stares hard into Sam’s eyes. “We haven’t hunted together in years, Sam. Dad’s a lone wolf, you know that. After you left, he took off. Said he didn’t need my help after all.”

Sam can feel the effort it takes Dean to admit he’s been abandoned by the father he expected to partner with after Sam left. Imagining Dean hunting alone makes Sam’s chest tighten. His anger melts away, replaced by a fear of losing Dean that makes him shiver in the overheated room.

“Did you tell him about the Matrix?” Sam demands.

Dean shakes his head. “It’s too late for him. He’s too invested. It would destroy his mind, finding out the truth.” Sam can see the pain in Dean’s eyes, but it’s an old pain, like something he’s had to face for a while now. “But you can take it, Sam. I know you can. I _know_ you.”

Sam can’t find any answer to that. Dean knows him because he raised him. Dean knows him because he’s Jensen, the confidante Sam’s half in love with even though they’ve never met.

Till now.

Dean looks over Sam’s shoulder, into the crowd, and his eyes widen. Sam feels a chill run up his spine as Dean reaches for him.

“We’ve been spotted,” he says. “We need to go _now!”_

Sam hesitates for only a second. Even though it’s been four years since he hunted with his brother, the instincts and reflexes are still there. His body moves in sync with Dean’s of its own accord.

Dean leads him into a passageway behind the bar, up some stairs and into a hallway lined with doors. Apartments. There are student apartments above the club. In the quiet away from the club, Sam can hear someone clambering up the stairs behind them. He glances over his shoulder as two men in black suits and sunglasses round the corner of the stairwell, guns drawn.

“Come on!” Dean urges, and Sam hurries to follow.

“They’re human!” he hisses.

“They’re _agents_ ,” Dean says. At the end of the hall, he opens a window, gestures for Sam to follow him as he climbs out onto the fire escape.

“FBI?”

It’s dark outside, raining softly, and the fire escape is cold and slippery. Sam suddenly wishes he was home in bed with Jessica. None of this feels right.

“Come on, Sam! Let’s go!” Dean’s on the fire escape, gesturing frantically.

“This is crazy,” Sam mutters. It occurs to him that his brother has gone off the deep end, finally committed some capital crime that’s got the FBI on his tail.

Sam could turn himself in, let Dean escape. It’s not like they can hold Sam. He hasn’t done anything.

“They’re not human, Sam,” Dean growls. “You’ve got to trust me on that.”

“Halt!” Someone shouts from the end of the hall. “Put your hands where we can see them!”

Just as Sam starts to obey, he finds himself pushed out of the way. Shots ring out, close enough to make his head pound as Dean leans in the window and shoots both agents dead.

“Jesus, Dean!”

“I said, they’re not human,” Dean growls, grabbing Sam’s arm. “Now come on!”

Horrified, relying on instinct, Sam climbs out the window, onto the fire escape. Cold rain slaps his face, pierces his clothing. The narrow stairs are slippery and rickety, threatening to come loose from the building. Dean’s halfway up the first flight.

“Come on!”

Sam follows, shivering. He’s in shock. He trusts his brother, but he’s freaked out, too. What if Dean has lost his mind? What if the shadowy hacker world is just a sham? Just a bunch of crazy conspiracy theorists boosting each other’s egos?

When they reach the roof, Dean leads him across to the other side, peers over the edge.

“What now?” Sam asks as he stops beside him. They’re ten floors up. There’s an identical building roof directly across, a dark narrow alley between.

“We jump,” Dean directs, nodding at the other building. He backs up to give himself a running start.

Sam gasps. “Are you insane? No way you’re gonna make that!”

“Watch me.” Dean gives him a lop-sided grin.

Before Sam can stop him, Dean takes off at a dead run for the edge of the roof. Sam watches in horrified fascination as his brother leaves the edge of the roof and seems to soar upwards for a moment before making a perfect landing on the opposite roof. He turns, arms spread wide, grinning at Sam.

“See?” he calls. “Easy peasy. Now come on, Sammy. It’s your turn.”

“This is insane,” Sam mutters. But there’s no way he’ll let Dean beat him. He’s Sam’s brother, not a superhero. Even if there were times Sam thought he was, years ago when he was too little to know better.

He keeps his eye on Dean as he backs up as far as he can, then runs toward the edge of the roof. Gravel crunches under his feet, rain slashes at his cheeks and gets into his eyes. When he hits the edge of the roof he keeps going, propelling himself forward with sheer momentum, keeping his eyes on Dean the whole time.

He lands hard, pitches forward and goes down. He manages to roll into the fall so he hits the ground shoulder first, a sharp pain shooting up from his shoulder to his neck, across his back.

Dean’s there in an instant, hand warm on his back, his neck, checking for injuries. It’s a familiar touch, and Sam leans into it, lets it soothe him and make him feel better. Dean’s touch has always had that magic ability to heal and soothe.

Sam’s missed it too much.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he mutters as he scrambles to his feet, favoring his left arm. He brushes off Dean’s offer of help, aching for more of his touch at the same time.

It’s confusing.

“Not bad, little brother.” Dean grins at him, approving. “We’ll have you jumping sky-scrapers in no time.”

Sam looks back. The jump he just made seems impossible. The distance is too great.

“What if I didn’t make it?” he wonders out loud.

“Knew you would,” Dean says with confidence. “You’re one of us. Now come on.”

More perplexed than ever, Sam follows as Dean leads him through a door and down some stairs. This building appears deserted, dim lighting from a single bulb hanging above them as they descend. Dean pulls out his flashlight when they reach the landing, counts closed doors to the third one on the right, and grabs the knob. He looks up at Sam before he turns it.

“Ready to have your mind blown, Sammy?” 

Sam’s not sure he’s ready for whatever is about to happen, but he’s sure he’ll follow Dean anywhere. He’s already wondering how he could have left him in the first place. The reasons he always told himself no longer exist. Dean knows, and the feeling is mutual.

Sam nods, and Dean opens the door.

Inside, three people are gathered around two computer monitors. A fourth sits alone in a giant armchair next to an empty couch, sipping whiskey while he watches TV. The room is sparsely furnished, dusty and unlived in, like so many of the places where the Winchesters squatted while Sam was growing up. Two tall, bare windows rise up dark and streaked with rain on the far wall. The only light other than the monitors comes from a dusty chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Armchair Man looks up as Sam and Dean enter.

“Ah, Jensen,” he says in a gravelly English accent. “You found him.”

“‘Course I found him,” Dean growls. “He’s my brother.”

“The fabled Winchester brothers.” The man nods. “In the flesh.”

His eyes roam down Sam’s body appreciatively, and Sam flushes. He doesn’t like this man on principle, wonders why Dean trusts him.

Everyone in the room is dressed in black. Black jackets over black jeans and t-shirts. The only woman in the room, a petite redhead, wears leather from head to stiletto-heeled toe.

“Hello, boys,” she greets them. The others have turned their attention to Sam and Dean as well, and Sam feels like a specimen under a microscope.

“I’m Ruthie,” the woman says, extending her hand with a calculated smile.

Sam takes it and she squeezes, tiny bones cracking in his hand.

“This is Robbie, Rich, and Mark.” She nods to her companions, indicating the man in the armchair last. “And you’re Jared.”

“Sam,” Sam corrects. “Jared’s just the name I use online.”

“Oh you poor boy.” Ruthie shakes her head. “We _are_ online.” She gestures at Mark. “In this world, he’s a demon named Crowley, and I’m a 300-year-old witch.”

“My mother,” Mark says, rolling his eyes. “As if.”

“You’re a demon?” Sam gasps. He glares at Dean. “You’re friends with a _demon?_ ”

“Relax,” Dean says. “It’s not what it looks like. Nothing is. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“It’s true,” Mark says. “I’m not really a demon. It would be nice, having all that power, but this is the only place I can use it. And this isn’t real, so.”

“We’re all just human,” one of the other men says. Robbie or Rich, Sam’s not sure which. “Some of us get to play God in here, but it’s just a game. Like Grand Theft Auto with demons and angels.”

“Angels? What the hell? What does any of this have to do with the Matrix?” Sam’s confusion has grown until it verges on panic.

“Sit down.” Mark directs him to the couch. “It’ll be easier if we show you.”

Dean’s reassurance gives Sam courage. If this is okay with Dean, Sam’s willing to put aside his doubts and play along. They sit side-by-side, arms and legs touching, as Robbie, Rich, and Ruthie crowd around behind them. Mark presses a button on the remote control and images fill the TV screen as he narrates, explaining that the real world ended over 1,000 years ago and Sam’s living in a dream world created by a sentient artificial intelligence. Human beings are gestated in test tubes, plugged into the Matrix at birth, and used as batteries to generate energy for the machines who keep them alive solely for that purpose.

As Dean had warned, Sam’s mind is blown.

“But why demons?” he says when Mark finishes. “Why would the Matrix create a secret layer of monsters and hunters underneath all that normal? What’s the point of that?”

“Some humans are born wanting more,” Robbie says. “It’s in our DNA. We think the Matrix created the supernatural world as a way to satisfy that need, to keep those minds distracted so they wouldn’t dig deeper. So they wouldn’t learn the truth.”

“But you did dig deeper,” Sam says, looking around at each of the room’s occupants until his eyes meet Dean’s.

His brother nods.

“We all did,” Dean says. “Now it’s your turn.”

Sam follows his gaze to the little plate with two brightly colored pills on the side table next to Mark’s armchair. Sam’s sure the plate wasn’t there a moment before, and that makes his heart race. Things here are not what they seem, and Sam’s brain screams witchcraft and demon magic. He’s having difficulty trusting this man who’s admittedly demonic. He can’t get his mind around the fact that Dean trusts a demon.

“It’s your choice, Jared,” Mark says. “Take the blue pill and all of this goes away. You wake up snug in your little bed with your girlfriend tomorrow morning with no memory of any of this.”

“Of course, Jessica dies if you choose that route,” Dean warns. “The Matrix wants to send you down a road you won’t be able to escape from. Don’t forget where the quest for vengeance led Dad.”

Fear shoots up Sam’s spine. His heart races and his palms sweat.

“And the red pill?”

Mark smiles, serpentine. “Take the red pill and find out how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

Sam hesitates. “Will I be able to tell Jessica what’s happened?” 

He’s consumed with guilt when he thinks about how willing he is to leave her behind, how eager he is to follow wherever Dean leads, even into this strange underground world.

“It’s better if you don’t,” Dean says. “She won’t understand, and you’ll be putting her in danger if you contact her again after tonight. She’s in enough danger already, just knowing you.”

Sam nods. Civilians are always in danger from contact with hunters. It’s the way Sam and Dean were raised to think. It’s why they never had any friends except other hunters.

Mark holds the plate out. “It’s your choice,” he says again.

Sam reaches for the red pill, picks it up and stares at it before looking up at Dean.

“You did this?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. His eyes glitter with emotion, and it occurs to Sam that Dean wants him. Has always wanted him. Dean chose Sam over everything, even their dad.

Sam had it all wrong about Dean all along.

That’s good enough for Sam. Before he can overthink it, he pops the pill in his mouth and swallows. A glass of water appears out of nowhere on the little table, and Mark hands it to him. Sam gulps it down halfway before setting the glass down.

At first, nothing happens. Mark watches him with a bored smile on his face while Ruthie stands at his back, arms crossed, smug.

A flash of lightning draws his attention, and Sam looks up. Robbie and Rich have moved over to the monitors and are talking softly, muttering about telemetry and broadcast signals.

Dean squeezes his knee.

“Just relax,” he says. Sam looks down to find a ball of something that looks like liquid metal or mercury on the palm of his hand. He rolls his fingers in it and suddenly the mercury is on them, spreading to the back of his hand and up his wrist.

It doesn’t hurt, but the sight of his arm being rapidly consumed by liquid metal isn’t exactly comforting.

“You’re gonna be fine, Sam,” Dean soothes. “Just hang on. Whatever you’re seeing isn’t real.”

Sam forces himself to focus on Dean’s voice as the metal reaches his shoulder and starts spreading across his chest, up his throat to his face. It’s going to swallow him, he realizes, panicking despite his best efforts to relax.

“He’s going into cardiac arrest!” Rich’s voice calls out.

“I’ve almost got him,” Robbie answers. “I just need another minute.”

“I don’t think he’s got another minute,” Ruthie says.

Sam opens his mouth to scream but the metal’s choking him now, covering his eyes and sliding down his throat.

The nightmare begins.

//**//**//

Later, Sam remembers his rescue and retrieval in a series of nightmarish flashbacks and from what Dean tells him. It’s too much for his brain to process as it happens.

He understands that the rescue ship found him because the red pill he swallowed was really a transponder that allowed the ship to track his whereabouts. He understands that he flatlined for a moment, long enough for the machinery that fed off his body to register his death. As with all dead bodies, his was released and flushed down a drainage tube to become part of the organic material that was used to create and feed new humans. Once there, he was retrieved by the rescue ship.

The ship is called the Impala, of course. Mark’s the captain, and Dean’s first mate, but Dean’s also the ship’s mechanic, which makes him as good as co-captain.

In the ship’s infirmary, Sam opens his eyes and stares at the man he thought was his brother.

“You’re Jensen?” His voice is a hoarse croak, unused to making more than rudimentary sounds.

Dean’s hair is longer than it’s ever been, pulled back and held with a silk ribbon, making him look like a pirate. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt and jeans, like the others in the room back in the other world. The Matrix. He’s thinner, not as muscular as the man Sam knows.

“That’s me, brother,” Dean nods, winking.

“We’re not really brothers.” Sam states the obvious.

Dean smirks. “Brothers in arms, maybe, if this goes the way I’m hoping it will.” His voice is dark as oak and smooth as whiskey. “But not blood related, sweetheart. Not at all.”

Dean licks his lips, slow and seductive, and Sam’s heart pounds painfully fast. His hands are shaking.

“Here it comes!” A voice calls from behind him. “He’s gonna hurl!”

And, right on cue, Sam does.

//**//**//

Sam spends the next several days decompressing. His muscles are atrophied and weak from disuse, so he spends hours getting acupuncture and other treatments. He exercises in the ship’s cramped work-out spaces. He learns to walk again, learns to use his arms and his legs to control his physical motion. He fights for control of his own body with a single-minded focus, determined to return to the sense of himself as physically fit, as ready for anything.

It doesn’t help that he’s as weak as a baby and half as coordinated.

He doesn’t stand a chance in hand-to-hand combat. The short guy, Robbie, takes him down every time. Sam can’t get a handle on his own physical space.

Until he does.

It’s all the breathing exercises Ruthie teaches him. She was a witch in his world. Rowena. But here, she’s a master of martial arts and a helluva yoga instructor. And that’s just the surface of what she shows him.

“Close your eyes, Jared,” Ruthie instructs, and he obeys. “Now focus on your movements. Tell your body what you want it to do. Visualize yourself doing it.”

Sam does. He thinks about how he used to take down werewolves with a swing of a sharp blade, or razor wire. He imagines himself doing it.

“Stop!” Ruthie shouts, and Sam’s eyes fly open. He’s got the petite woman pinned against the bulkhead, his forearm across her throat, cutting off her air supply. “That’s enough!”

Sam lets her go, trembling. “I’m — I’m sorry,” he says, confused. “I didn’t mean...”

“No,” Ruthie nods, straightening her hair as she pulls herself together. “Of course you didn’t. Let’s try this again, shall we?”

//**//**//

They call him Jared.

Of course they do. In Sam’s world, Jared was the code name he created for himself, the name he used online in every chat room and discussion group. Jared is a cyber terrorist. A rebel. Sam’s never heard the name used out loud before now, and it freaks him out every time he hears it, but he’ll get used to that.

He still thinks of himself as Sam, though.

Dean is Jensen. That’s a hard one to swallow. To Sam, Dean looks only slightly different in this world. The others defer to him, call him “Jensen” and think of him as their leader, but Sam can’t get his mind around it. To Sam, Dean will always be Dean.

Jensen was the much-admired online contact Jared “met” in a chat room three years ago, when this all started. Jensen was the hacker who cracked military codes and undermined worldwide financial systems. He was infamous in Sam’s world.

Sam would never have imagined that his shoot-first-ask-questions-later big brother could be capable of something like that. Credit card theft, maybe. Pool hall hustling, definitely. All the other stuff, that sounded more like Sam himself.

Over the past few years, Dean transformed into somebody else. Being away from Sam changed him. It’s like losing his brother all over again, finding out Dean’s not the brother Sam knew and loved. Not even close.

The more Sam thinks about it, the angrier it makes him. When it’s Dean’s turn to spar with him, Sam pushes him up against the bulkhead, forearm against his throat, towering over him.

“You lied to me.” His accusation is all he has, betrayal like a knife between them. “You never tried to contact me, not once.”

Dean doesn’t even struggle, goes for that scoffing half-grin he gives when he’s nervous. Sam knows it too well, knows exactly how Dean feels. Half hates him for it.

“Dude,” Dean says, slipping out of Jensen like it’s a second skin, eyes downcast. “You never woulda picked up if I called.”

“So you pretended to be somebody else,” Sam says. He’s not ready to contradict, but at the same time he’s incapable of admitting how easily he would’ve returned to Dean, if Dean had asked. “You made me believe I’d found a soulmate.”

Dean raises his eyes, looks hard at Sam. “You did.”

“It was _you_ , Dean,” Sam scoffs, shoving his thigh between Dean’s legs, pressing it against Dean’s crotch, feeling him harden with a smirk of satisfaction. “You know everything about me. Jensen doesn’t even exist.”

It hurts, admitting that. Jensen meant more to him than Sam cares to admit.

“I’m _him,_ Sam,” Dean says. “And I’m also me.”

“You sided with Dad that night,” Sam accuses. “You practically pushed me out the door, told me to never come back. I took that to heart, man. You know I did because I told Jensen about it.”

“Yeah, well, you were a brat!” Dean snaps. “Plus, I was already in love with you. I figured it was better if you left and never came back.”

“Well it wasn’t, Dean!” Sam exclaims, pushing his arm harder against Dean’s throat, not quite cutting off his air supply, but close. “It sucked! I was miserable! Missed you like a fucking hole in the chest! And you know that too cuz I told Jensen all that. Goddamn it, this is so fucked up!”

He lets Dean go with a little shove, backing away from him with a shake of his head.

Dean coughs, looks down at his shoes, scuffs one along the metal floor. There’s no real privacy on this ship, and Sam’s aware that the rest of the crew can hear them, or at least they can hear their raised voices.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I felt the same,” Dean mutters finally.

“It doesn’t!” Sam clenches his fists. “It’s doubly stupid, that’s all! You should’ve told me! You shouldn’t have let me think you hated me, all those years. You shouldn’t have pretended to be Jensen and lied to me! Don’t you see how fucked up that is?”

“Yeah, I do,” Dean sighs. “But you have to understand, I thought it was for the best. I thought you were out. Happy.”

Sam shakes his head, wipes his smarting eyes with the back of his hand. “You know that’s not true,” he says. “I told Jensen — I told _you_ — how miserable I was. How much I missed you. How much I missed Dean.” Sam throws up his hands in frustration. “God, this is so fucked up!”

Dean huffs out a breath, struggling with his emotions.

“Look, Sam, you left, okay? You wanted a normal life. _You_ did that. I thought it was what you wanted, and I wasn’t about to interfere with that. It was your choice, even if Dad told you never to come back. It was your choice never to call me! Never to so much as text me to let me know you were okay.”

Dean pauses, swipes a hand over his face, blinks rapidly. “And I respected that, even if it hurt like hell.”

“So what changed your mind, huh?” Sam bounces on the balls of his feet. He wants to hit something. “Why did you suddenly decide to tell me what was going on, after all that time? Huh? What made you finally decide to tell me the truth?”

Dean hesitates for a moment. He’s trying to decide whether to tell Sam something big, something important.

“What?” Sam demands, impatient, wishing Dean didn’t look so good with his thinner body, his longer hair. Wishing he didn’t feel like grabbing him and kissing him.

Dean nods. “I went to Missouri and she told me the truth,” he says, a small smile curling his full lips at the memory. “She told me that you’re The One, Sam. You’re the hero who’s supposed to save the human race. It’s your destiny.”

_What the fuck._

//**//**//

Now that he’s up and about, Sam meets the rest of the crew. In addition to the four people he met the night he was first unplugged, he meets Misha, who’s been out since he was a teenager after his family was killed in a car accident. He meets Samantha and Alona, a mother-daughter team who got out of the Matrix together, like Sam and Dean, and Chad, who is quite possibly the biggest computer nerd Sam has ever met. They were all hunters back in the Matrix, but when Chad started cracking the code that convinced him there was another reality under the one they were living in, they all opted for the rabbit hole.

Alex is only sixteen, the youngest member of the crew. He’s also the only one born outside the Matrix.

“Born and raised right here in the real world,” he tells Sam when they’re first introduced. “Born in Zion, the last outpost of all there is. The last free world. All that’s left of humanity. Buried deep, near the Earth’s core, protected by a massive system of gates and fences accessible only by hovership.”

Sam shakes his head as the kid gazes at him in awe and wonder.

“You’re gonna save us,” he tells Sam. “We’ve been waiting hundreds of years for you.”

Sam huffs out a breath in disbelief, too overwhelmed to come up with a response.

He’s nobody’s savior. He can barely function.

///***//**//

“How long has it been?”

Sitting across from each other in the mess hall an hour later, Sam and Dean chow down on something that looks and tastes like regurgitated oatmeal. Sam’s been assured it’s full of protein and minerals, but it’s definitely the nastiest stuff he’s ever eaten.

What he wouldn’t give for a fresh salad right now. Or even a bacon cheeseburger.

“Three years, give or take,” Dean answers. “They pulled me out just after you left for college.”

“But you couldn’t stay away,” Sam suggests. “You went back in. You were stalking me.” Sam recalls the tingling sensation of someone watching him as he walked across campus.

“Missed you,” Dean repeats, raising his eyes so that Sam can see the raw grief there. “Even though I knew you were right where you should be, it killed me to leave you there.”

Sam nods. “I first met Jensen in the spring of freshman year,” he recalls. “We first connected in that Harry Potter role-playing group.”

“That’s right.” Dean grins crookedly. “Knew I’d find you there.”

“You were already out by then,” Sam clarifies. “You invented Jensen so you could connect with me, because you thought I wouldn’t want to hear from Dean and you couldn’t stay away.”

Dean clenches his jaw, looks down at his slop, and for a moment Sam thinks he won’t answer. Then he nods.

“I was a mess after you left,” he admits. “Then Dad left, and I sort of fell off the deep end for a while. Drinking, being stupid. Charging into hunts half-cocked. Reckless. Knew I couldn’t go on like that.”

“So you went looking for the magic pill,” Sam suggests, forcing himself to ignore the tightness in his chest at Dean’s words, at the picture of desperation they paint. “You wanted it.”

Dean lifts his eyes, stares daggers at him.

Sam holds his gaze. Steady. Challenging.

“You’re saying I wanted to die,” Dean says, nodding subtly, wincing as he looks down again. Then he straightens up in his seat and takes a deep breath, bracing himself. “I wanted out, not gonna lie. But I couldn’t kill myself. I couldn’t leave you.”

Sam knows the effort it took for Dean to admit something like that. The Dean he knew would never confess something so vulnerable. So intimate.

But Jensen would.

“So you found a way out,” Sam says.

Dean nods. “I knew a girl who knew a guy who had something that could help.” He looks down at the untouched slop on his plate. “Mark Sheppard, leader of a special group of people who knew things. People who could predict the future. He promised if I took the pill, you would come back to me.”

“So you did.”

“I did,” Dean agrees, nodding. He looks up at Sam, eyes clear and green with a film of something that might be emotion, or it might be the dry air in the room making his eyes moist.

“I waited three years, Sammy,” he says quietly. “Three years.”

Sam sucks in a breath, lets it out slow. He looks away, then back at Dean, whose gaze holds his for another long moment before he looks away.

“Jesus, Dean.”

“I’m not Dean,” his not-brother reminds him, and anger rises in Sam’s chest like a firecracker.

“Yeah, you are!” Sam snaps. “You _are, _damn it! For all intents and purposes, you’re the big brother who raised me. Who took care of me and looked after me when Dad was gone. You’re the most important person in my life, Dean! How am I supposed to just let that go? How do I suddenly face the fact that none of it was real?”__

__Dean nods. He hesitates before answering, but when he does, his gaze is clear. Confident._ _

__“Because you can,” he says softly. “Because you know it’s true. Because you’ve always known it. You’ve always felt different. Special. A freak. Right? Well, that’s because you are. You’re Jared. The One. You’re the guy who is destined to save the world, and I’m the sidekick who was always meant to be there for you. To protect you until you were ready. The world has been waiting for you, Sammy, and it’s been my job all along to make sure you get here.”_ _

__“Fuck,” Sam breathes._ _

__Dean puts his spoon down with a flourish. “Pretty much, yeah,” he agrees._ _

__Sam opens his mouth but nothing comes out._ _

__Dean smirks, lowers his eyes. “We’re in this together,” he says firmly._ _

__Sam sucks in a breath, relieved and terrified at the same time._ _

__“Okay.”_ _

____

//**//**//

Dean’s words give Sam too much to think about.

That night, he can’t sleep. He gets up from the tiny bunk in the ship’s infirmary, pads down the corridor to the bridge. Robbie sits at the comm, keeping watch over a half-dozen screens, most of them filled with continually scrolling code.

Robbie starts when Sam moves up behind him, peering into the screens without recognition or understanding.

“So that’s the Matrix?” he asks.

Robbie nods. “Yeah.” He glances up at Sam, reads his clueless expression and smiles. “You get used to it. Right now I’m just watching for any glitches, anything that might alert us that they’re onto us after we got you out.”

Sam nods. He can’t imagine getting used to all that code. He can’t imagine being able to read it, like Robbie obviously can.

“Can I ask you something?” Robbie says, swiveling toward him. Sam nods. “How does it feel, finding out you’re supposed to save the world?”

Robbie’s tone is kind, sympathetic. 

Sam huffs out a breath. “I don’t know,” he admits. “It’s weird, I guess.”

Robbie smiles, rueful. “You know, in there, I was a Prophet of the Lord. I was writing your story, if you can believe it. Yours and Dean’s. You were a world-saver in there, too.”

Sam frowns. “No way.”

“Afraid so, kid,” Robbie says. “Apparently, you can’t escape your destiny, no matter where you are.”

Sam shakes his head. “It’s just so weird. Two weeks ago, my biggest problem was getting into law school.”

Robbie huffs out a laugh. “I hear you. I used to be God. Literally. Before they yanked me out, I was running the show. Now I’m a lowly crew member, playing backup for the stars who were just shitty little nobodies in there. Reality sucks, man.”

Sam frowns at the bitterness in Robbie’s voice. “You regret getting out?”

“Regret it?” Robbie looks up at him, frowning a little as he shifts his gaze between Sam and the screens in front of him. “Nah. It’s definitely better here, man. I mean, who wouldn’t rather be out here in the real world, right?”

“Right,” Sam agrees, but he’s not really thinking about Robbie’s question.

He’s thinking about Dean.

//**//**//

At the end of the week, Robbie hooks Sam and Dean up for Sam’s first online session.

“This is the Matrix?” Sam gazes around at the room which looks like an elaborate Asian-themed gym.

“No.” Dean shakes his head. “This is just a simulation. Everybody starts out here. This is where you learn just how much your mind can do without the limitation of your physical body.”

“This is so weird,” Sam breathes as he looks down at himself, at the simple black sweatpants and t-shirt he’s wearing. He’s barefoot.

Dean’s hair is short again. He’s dressed simply in the jeans and plaid shirt he usually wore when he hunted. Dad’s leather jacket hangs off his broad shoulders, always a size too big.

“The jacket’s not real,” Sam observes. “It only exists in here.”

“It only exists in _here_.” Dean taps his own temple. “And in our shared memories of our life growing up.”

“That really happened,” Sam clarifies. “We didn’t just dream it.”

Dean grins. “Oh, it happened, all right. For all intents and purposes, you’re still my pain-in-the-ass little brother. But you’re Jared, too.”

Sam nods. “And you’re still my jerk of a big brother,” he says. “But you’re also Jensen.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Dean says, nodding. “Now show me what you got, Jared-Sam.”

Sam gives his all, using the Jiu Jitsu and Taekwondo he learned in the physical world, the programming sent directly to his brain while his body sat plugged in on a loading chair.

Dean bests him every time without breaking a sweat.

After a few minutes, Sam collapses, sweating, breathing hard. 

Dean’s eyes sparkle as he laughs.

“Come on now, little brother, you can do better than that!”

Dean hasn’t even taken his jacket off.

“Damn it, Dean!” Sam complains. “I used to be able to beat you when we sparred, at least part of the time. What the hell, man?”

“You’re overthinking,” Dean says, serious. “You gotta let yourself go, Sammy. In here, you can do anything. All you have to do is to believe you can.”

He circles the room, moving so gracefully his heavy boots don’t make a sound. He doesn’t seem to touch the ground.

Sam shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says. “I’m not as good as you.”

“You are,” Dean assures him. “You just have to free your mind from all your old preconceptions. This isn’t real, Sam. All that’s real is what’s in your grapefruit.”

Dean stops, frowning a little.

“What?”

Dean shakes his head. “With you, I keep reverting back to the old me,” he says. “You bring the old Dean out in me. It’s been a while.”

He shrugs the jacket off and folds it neatly, lays it down on a small wooden chair in a corner of the room. Then he turns back to Sam and beckons with one hand.

“Now come on, little brother. Show me what you’ve really got.”

Sam takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. He imagines he’s at a park near Bobby’s house, a place he used to love when he was a child. In his mind’s eye he can see the grass where he learned to kick a soccer ball around, sometimes with Dean, sometimes by himself. It’s a sunny day in early summer. A soft breeze is blowing and the birds are singing.

Sam opens his eyes. The room has disappeared and they’re standing in the park, exactly as Sam imagined. Dean stands a few feet away, gazing up at the sky with a goofy grin on his face.

“Nice!” he comments approvingly. “Now use that big brain to give up your best moves.”

This time when they spar, Sam imagines winning. He anticipates Dean’s moves, counters them easily. After only a few moments, he’s got Dean pinned to the ground and tapping out.

“Easy, tiger,” Dean laughs. “Now you’re doing it.”

Sam looks down into Dean’s shining eyes and can’t resist a smirk of triumph.

//**//**//

After a week of simulations, Robbie plugs them into the Matrix for the first time.

It’s easy. Sam’s amazed at how easy it is, now that he knows the truth.

The monsters aren’t real. They’re manifestations of the artificial world designed by the Matrix, designed to occupy and distract trouble-makers like their little band of rebels. Figuring out how to kill each kind of monster isn’t even necessary, Sam learns. All he has to do is know the truth, and the power of his mind takes care of the rest.

Slaughtering monsters with his mind attracts attention, of course. Police, FBI, Secret Service, Homeland Security. Soon, Sam and Dean are on the run, their team of hunters scattered. Sam leads the authorities on a chase across rooftops, leaping over streets from twenty floors up, sliding into windows on the sides of skyscrapers, Dean at his side.

When the men in black finally trap them and they can’t go anywhere, Sam closes his eyes for a moment and imagines the car. He imagines a cool, clear morning on a backroad in Iowa, cornfields rushing by as Dean drives.

When he opens his eyes, they’re there, in the car, Led Zeppelin blaring from the speakers. The Impala’s motor rumbles under them as they fly, Dean at the wheel with a smirk on his perfect lips.

“Whooo!” Dean whoops, rolls down the window and leans out to whoop again. Sam’s face splits open in a grin that just won’t quit.

After a few moments, Sam closes his eyes again. This time when he opens them, they’re in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest, climbing a winding mountain road with a gorgeous view of valleys and a lake beneath them.

Dean pulls the car over and they get out to enjoy the view. The breeze ruffles their hair, the smell of pine fills their nostrils, and Sam’s heart soars.

They lean back on the warm hood of the Impala and drink their beers, watching as a flock of birds sails into the valley below them, riding the wind. Sam knows how that feels. He could probably become one of those birds, if he wanted.

The feeling of utter freedom is intoxicating. The possibilities are endless.

Sam turns to find Dean watching him, his bright green eyes with their thick lashes the most beautiful thing Sam’s ever seen.

“Feels good, don’t it?” Dean says with a wink. “In here, you can do anything.”

Sam nods, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to kiss Dean, just out of euphoria.

He leans close, cups Dean’s cheek with his free hand, and Sam can see by the look in Dean’s eyes, the way he leans into Sam’s hand, that he’ll let Sam do this. He’s okay with it.

This isn’t Dean, his mind reminds him as their lips touch. It’s Jensen.

He’s not really Sam. He’s Jared, the rebel who might be able to fix all this.

But he’s still Sam, too. This is still Dean, the man who raised him, who was there with him from the beginning.

It’s almost too much. As the kiss depends, Sam closes his eyes, imagines a motel room like the thousands they’ve stayed in over the years.

This one’s got a king-sized bed.

//**//**//

Sam’s cell phone rings, and for a moment he forgets where he is. They’re in a motel, his sleepy mind tells him, but he can’t remember how they got here. Dean’s asleep in the bed next to him. As Sam props himself up to reach for his phone, he realizes he’s naked.

So is Dean.

The night before crashes into his mind and suddenly he’s fully alert. He grabs the phone as Dean’s eyes open, sleep-soft and unfocused, and Sam can’t stop staring.

“Jared.”

Robbie’s voice over the phone is like a bucket of cold water. Their time’s up. Time to get out.

Sam opens his eyes. He’s in the loading chair, hooked up to the transmitter, fully clothed. Dean sits in the chair next to him, also fully clothed. Sam glances at him as Robbie retracts the plug from the back of his neck.

“You did good, kid,” Robbie tells him. “Real good.”

Dean gives him a slow, secret smile, and Sam blushes. His ass is sore, which doesn’t make sense since his body hasn’t done anything but sit here, strapped to a chair, for the past thirty minutes. Time moves differently in the Matrix.

He just spent a day in there, taking down monsters, running from the cops, having sex with his brother.

The memory of it makes Sam’s dick twitch. As he and Dean move down the corridor, Sam grabs Dean’s arm and pushes him up against the bulkhead.

“What we did in there...” Sam says. He’s fully erect now, panting a little as he presses against Dean’s firm, warm body. His _real_ body.

“Too bad there’s no king-sized bed on this rig.” Dean smirks.

“So, if there was space?” Sam needs to be sure.

“Privacy, dude,” Dean reminds him. “Where would we go?”

“Everybody knows anyway,” Sam hisses. “Not like they couldn’t see what we were doing in there.”

“Yeah, but it’s different out here,” Dean says. “There’s literally nowhere we can go to be alone. And I’m not performing in front of the whole crew. Not out here. You get me?”

Sam dips his head, lets his lips skim over Dean’s. “We’ll see,” he promises darkly. “I don’t know if I can wait.”

“All right, lovebirds,” Misha interrupts, as he seems to enjoy doing. Sam thinks he might have a thing for Dean, which wouldn’t surprise him. Everyone has a thing for Dean, male and female alike. They all call him Jensen, of course, which still takes some getting used to. “Let’s get back to work. Bogey scanned off our starboard bow.”

As the ship goes into stealth mode, Sam huddles on the bridge with the rest of the crew, watching as the insect-like machines hover and propel through the cavern around them. Sam wonders if the probes are looking for them, specifically, or if they’re simply doing a routine scan of the area. But when Sam starts to ask the question, Robbie puts his fingers to his lips.

“They’re attracted by our signal,” Rich explains after the probes have left. “They can tell when we’re connecting to the Matrix. We suspect they know about us, but they’re not too concerned. Yet.”

“They tried to kill us when we were inside,” Dean reminds him. “I’d say they’re plenty concerned.”

“Wait, so if we die in the Matrix, we die out here?” Sam knows it’s a stupid question as soon as he’s asked it. Rich smirks; Dean shakes his head, and Misha full on rolls his eyes.

“Okay, okay, never mind,” Sam says. “I get it.”

“This isn’t an easy job, Jared,” Mark warns. “If you want out, we can hook you back up, shoot you full of drugs so you don’t ever have to remember any of this. You’ll go right back to your nice, normal life as Sam Winchester.”

“My life was never normal,” Sam snaps. “I’m not going anywhere.”

//**//**//

”It’s time.”

Sam’s in the rec room with Ruthie, practicing yoga moves, when Dean interrupts.

“Time for what?”

Dean winks, slaps his hand against the bulkhead. “Time to go to Missouri.”

“The state?” Sam frowns in confusion as Dean disappears down the corridor, headed to the bridge.

“You’ll see.” Ruthie smirks.

Sam joins Dean, Robbie, Mark and Ruthie on the bridge for the trip into the Matrix. Rich stays behind as operator with backup from Chad, Alona, and Samantha. Misha and Alex are nowhere to be found, but that’s normal for them. They spend a lot of time in the engineering room, fixing things. They seem to have a kind of father-son relationship.

“She’s not human,” Dean explains once they’re inside.

They’re in a building like the one in which Sam first met them, somewhere in San Francisco. The crew have transformed into the personas they each prefer when on the Inside. Sam and Dean wear usual hunting garb. Sam can feel his Taurus tucked into the back of his jeans, knows Dean’s similarly armed. Ruthie wears the slinky black leather she prefers, Mark the sleek black suit he wore when Sam first met him. Robbie looks like a teacher or writer in his soft grey hoodie, baggy jeans and rubber-toed sneakers. He wears a perpetually worried expression, his eyes darting around nervously as they walk.

“We think she’s a glitch in the system,” Dean continues as he leads the way down the stairs to the car. “She knows things.”

“Things?”

“The future,” Dean says. “Things that happen in the real world, even though she’s in here. She’s a construct. Doesn’t have a human body, but she’s on our side.”

“How is that possible?” Sam falls into step beside him.

“Like I said, she’s some kind of glitch in the system.”

The Impala sits on the street corner, waiting. Dean slides into the driver’s seat and Sam climbs in beside him as the others crowd into the backseat. The day is wet and cold, the city streets deserted. Clouds hang low, grey, like a wet blanket. Sam hugs himself, rubbing his arms for warmth as Dean cranks the heat, flips on the windshield wipers.

Sam sits back as the car moves slowly through the city. He stares out at the once-familiar landscape with his new vision, recognizing a coffee shop where he and Jessica used to go to study together, a used bookstore they frequented right next door. He can’t help wondering where Jessica is now. What did she think when Sam never came home? When he never called?

“Earth to Sam.” Dean waves a hand in front of his face.

Sam starts, blinking. “I was just thinking about Jessica.”

“What about her?”

“She never knew why I left,” he says. “She didn’t get a note, no phone call, nothing. I’m an asshole to do that to her.”

“Dude, you died,” Dean reminds him. “When that happened, the Matrix re-wrote your code. As far as Jessica’s concerned, you never existed.”

Sam sucks in a breath, shocked. “Nobody remembers me?”

“Well, random strangers probably do.” Dean shrugs. “People who knew you before you came to Stanford. But when you died, you stopped being part of the story.”

“What story?”

“The story the Matrix wrote for you,” Dean says. “What, you don’t think the Matrix had a very specific plan for your life? What’s the matter, Sammy, don’t you believe in destiny?”

“No, Dean, I don’t,” Sam snaps. “And neither do you. If our lives are all planned out for us, what’s the point?”

“Exactly.” Dean winks. “And that’s just what the Matrix wants you to think.”

Sam shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure you just contradicted yourself,” he says.

“If you two are quite done confusing each other, would you mind pulling over and letting us out here?” Mark calls from the backseat. “We’ve got our own little mission to accomplish.”

Dean pulls the car over and the three backseat passengers pile out. Sam watches as they file into a seedy-looking bar with a neon Trader Vic’s sign hung over the door.

“What are they doing?” he asks as Dean pulls back into traffic, driving north into a residential neighborhood.

“Acting as decoys,” he says. “We don’t want agents finding Missouri. Or you.”

“I thought you said the Matrix thinks I’m dead.”

“It does,” Dean says. “We want to keep it that way.”

“Wait, so what about you? And the others? Doesn’t the Matrix think you’re all dead, too?” Sam frowns when he considers the implications of this, confused again.

“In a way,” Dean agrees.

“But what about Dad? What about me? If you died, that’d kill him. It’d kill _me_.” It shocks him to think that their dad might never wonder where they’d gone, might never even remember he’d had sons in the first place.

“Anybody ever tell you you ask too many questions?” Dean smirks. 

Sam huffs out a breath. “Yeah. You do. All the time.”

“Here we are.”

The car stops in front of a nondescript apartment building, one of several on the block. Instead of entering from the street, Dean leads the way into an alley between two buildings, then down a short flight of stairs to the basement door. After knocking sharply three times, the door opens and a small girl appears. She motions them inside, then she shuts the door behind them.

“We’re here to see Missouri,” Dean tells her.

The girl nods, turning to lead them down a dimly lit basement corridor to an elevator. Along the corridor, trash piles in corners, battered doors remain closed, graffiti covers the walls. The place smells like overcooked vegetables and pee.

“You did this?” Sam asks as they climb into the dingy elevator.

“We all did,” Dean says.

The elevator door opens on the third floor corridor, dusty and littered with paper bags and grocery receipts like the basement. Dean stops outside the third door on the right, but before he has a chance to knock, it opens. Another young girl leads them down a hall into a small room, where two other adults sit, flipping through old magazines, obviously waiting. They don’t look up.

“Wait here.” The girl disappears through a door on the opposite wall, closing it behind her, leaving Sam and Dean standing in the middle of the room, eyeing the one empty chair.

Before they can decide which of them should sit, the door opens again and the girl reappears, beckoning to Sam.

“Me?” He points to himself, glances at the two people who are still waiting, and shoots them apologetic looks. One of them rolls his eyes.

Dean gives him a little push as the girl continues to beckon.

“Go on! I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

Beyond the door is a larger room filled with young people, most of them children or teenagers. There are a couple of girls who might be college students, but it’s obvious to Sam that he’s the oldest person here. All of the kids are practicing various telekinetic exercises. Sam and his guide stop to watch as a little boy focuses on a pencil that lifts into the air in front of him. It hovers there a moment, then falls to the floor. A teenage girl seems to be bending a spoon with her mind. A boy and a girl sit cross-legged on the floor with their eyes closed, giggling periodically.

“They’re telling each other jokes,” Sam’s guide explains. “Telepathically, of course.”

“Right.” Sam nods. “Of course.”

“Missouri will see you now,” Sam’s guide tells him, nodding toward a curtained doorway at the other end of the room.

As Sam makes his way across the room, he smells cookies baking, knows before he steps through the curtain what he’ll find there. The picture in his mind of a plump woman in an apron is confirmed as he steps into the kitchen.

“Jared.” The woman smiles warmly at him as she sets down her tray of cookies and gestures toward an empty chair at the table.

“It’s Sam, actually,” Sam says as he takes a seat. “Jared’s somebody else.” He can feel himself blushing under the woman’s frank gaze.

“Don’t worry about it,” Missouri assures him a second before Sam’s elbow hits the vase of flowers on the edge of the table, knocking it to the floor with a loud crash.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” He jumps to his feet, watching helplessly as Missouri grabs a broom and dustpan, sweeping the flowers and broken vase into her trash can with an expert hand.

“What’s really going to bother you after you leave here is, would you have knocked it over if I hadn’t said anything?”

Sam shakes his head. “I — I don’t —”

Missouri smiles, gestures for him to sit down again, and Sam does.

“Now let’s take a look at you,” Missouri says as she takes one of his hands, begins examining the palm. “Uh huh. Hmm. Well, look at that.”

Sam frowns, unable to see anything unusual about his hand, other than its size. “What? Can you read my future?”

“Do you believe that I can?” Missouri counters.

“Yes,” Sam confesses. “No. I don’t know. Dean said you could. He said you tell people’s destinies.” He keeps his tone even, determined to hide his distaste at the idea of destiny.

“Jensen believes you will save the world,” Missouri says, squeezing his fingers idly. “He believes you are The One.”

Sam huffs out a laugh, nervously chewing on his lower lip. “I’m no hero,” Sam says, shaking his head. “Dean’s the hero. Always has been. I’m just his dorky little brother.”

Missouri gazes at him thoughtfully for another moment, then she nods.

“Well, you’re not wrong about that,” she says, dropping his hand. She gets to her feet and puts her oven mitt on, turning her back on Sam as she takes another tray of cookies out of the oven.

Sam waits, but Missouri doesn’t speak again. She takes a spatula off the counter and slides the cookies from the baking sheet onto a cooling rack, one at a time. Painstaking.

“That’s it?” Sam asks finally. He’s relieved and surprised, but mostly he feels let down. All the build-up to this moment, to learning the truth about his destiny, seems overblown. Ridiculous. Downright embarrassing.

Missouri turns, a plate of cookies in her hand, and offers him one.

“You were expecting something a little less anti-climactic?” She smiles wryly. “Sorry, kid. Sometimes the truth isn’t all fireworks and spectacle.”

Sam takes the cookie and frowns, shaking his head as he stares at it. _What a bummer,_ he thinks. _Dean’s gonna be so disappointed._

“One more thing,” Missouri says, as if she can feel his hesitation. “Your ship’s captain is in grave danger. The Matrix knows he’s here, and it wants the codes to Zion’s mainframe. If he gives them up, Zion will be destroyed. Only you can stop that. You can save the captain by trading your life for his. Your brother will try to stop you, so you’ll need to keep this little bit of information to yourself until the time comes. Do you understand?”

Sam nods, his mind racing.

“Now eat your cookie,” Missouri says, patting his arm soothingly. “I promise when it’s gone, you’ll feel right as rain.”

In the waiting room, Sam shoots an apologetic look at the others who are still waiting before his eyes meet Dean’s.

Dean puts a hand up, palm out. “What was said in there, that’s between you and Missouri,” he says. “You don’t need to tell anyone.”

Sam’s embarrassed, as if he’s lying to Dean. “Dean, what she told me...” 

“Was exactly what you needed to hear,” Dean assures him. “Now come on. Our time’s up.”

Mark and Ruthie are waiting in front of the bar where they left them.

“Where’s Robbie?” Dean asks as they climb into the back seat.

“He spotted an agent,” Mark explains. “Took off to lure it off your trail. He’ll meet us at the pick-up location.”

The rendezvous point is only five blocks away in another abandoned building. Sam’s getting definite deja vu this time; it occurs to him that every abandoned building in the city looks the same on the inside. Why not? The Matrix could save energy if it used the same set over and over.

He notices the glitch before anyone else does. They’re on their way up the stairs when a black cat walks across the doorway, followed by an identical black cat that walks exactly the same way.

“They’re on to us,” Mark notes, taking the stairs two at a time in an effort to outrun the agents that suddenly pour into the building’s ground floor.

The windows and doors are bricked up. The phone that was supposed to rescue them is dead. It’s a trap.

Mark pulls out his cell phone, and dials the operator. “We need another exit,” he tells Rich.

Sam closes his eyes, imagines them all safely on board the Impala.

When he opens his eyes, they’re all staring at him, but nothing’s changed. They’re still standing around a table in the top floor of the abandoned apartment building.

“They’re blocking your signal,” Dean explains. “You can’t do your thing in here. None of us can.”

“Pull up a blueprint of this building,” Mark directs Rich over the phone. “We need a crawl space.”

“There’s drywall in the bathroom,” Rich tells him. “You can get into the crawl space through the vents.”

“Fuck,” Mark curses when they crowd into the small bathroom and stare at the vent cover. “Ruthie, you go first.”

They slide in feet first, one at a time, Sam last.

“I hate tight spaces,” Dean mutters as he elbows his way down the shaft.

“No you don’t,” Sam quips.

From deep inside the crawl space, Mark huffs out a laugh. 

“Thatta boy,” he praises. “Never lose your sense of humor, Jared. Rule Number One.”

Sam’s not sure he’ll fit. He curls his shoulders in toward his chest, reaches up behind him to pull the vent cover closed after them.

They freeze as they hear shouting, then pounding feet as agents rush into the outer room. Through the slats in the vent, Sam can see one as he makes his way around the corner into the bathroom.

He puts his finger to his lips when somebody below him stifles a sneeze. The agent turns, seems to stare straight at him, and Sam concentrates on being invisible, hopes even a little of his ability seeps out.

For a moment, it seems to work. The agent touches his earpiece, turning to leave the room.

“Top floor clear,” he says.

Somebody sneezes.

The agent whirls around, raising his machine gun.

“They’re in the walls!”

“Go!” Sam calls down as shots ring out. “Go go go!”

He feels Dean and the others let go of their hold on the shaft, feels himself slide down after them. His back and arms scrape the walls painfully; splinters stab at his hands.

When he stops suddenly, Sam’s boot slams into Dean’s shoulder. At least he hopes it’s his shoulder. Dean curses softly and grabs his ankle to keep him from sliding further.

“What the hell...”

Sam’s heart practically leaps out of his chest when Mark gives an angry cry and smashes through the drywall below them.

Before Sam realizes what’s happening, Dean’s tugging on his ankle, pulling him down the shaft. As they continue their descent, falling fast past the hole in the wall that Mark made, Sam catches a glimpse of a half-dozen agents as they swarm into the third-floor bathroom where Mark lies sprawled on the floor before he slides past, all the way to the basement garage.

“Come on,” Dean growls as they tumble out onto the floor.

“Mark,” Ruthie whispers, shaken.

“Come on,” Dean repeats, leading the way toward the garage exit as he pulls out his cell phone. “Rich? They’ve got Sheppard. How do we get out of here?”

Sam and Ruthie follow as Dean listens to Rich’s directions.

“What about Robbie?” Ruthie says as Dean cuts the connection. They’ve made it to the street, to the car, and Dean slides into the driver’s seat without hesitating, Sam in the passenger seat, Ruthie behind them.

“He’s on his own,” Dean growls. “Damn it!” he swears as he glances in the rearview mirror. Agents flow out the front door of the building they just left, in hot pursuit.

Dean turns the key in the ignition, the engine roars to life, and the Impala peels out. He drives fast up back streets and alleyways, cutting across main streets without stopping for lights. Sam closes his eyes, imagines them already at their destination, opens them again when Dean slams on the brakes.

“Son of a bitch!”

Chad and Samantha stand in the middle of the road, inches from the front of the car. Samantha carries the case that contains the attenuator the Impala crew uses to boost their signal inside the Matrix. Sam knows this without thinking. The information simply appears in his mind.

“Rich is boosting our abilities,” Dean explains as they get out of the car. “He can’t do it for long, but it should be enough to get us out of here.”

“Mark...” Ruthie whispers.

“No time,” Dean snaps, as angry as Sam’s ever seen him, and Sam understands. Dean’s taking Mark’s capture personally, feels it’s his fault. He thinks he got his captain captured as sure as if he betrayed him to the agents directly.

“Dean, it’s not your fault,” Sam reminds him as they follow Chad, Ruthie, and Samantha into the empty apartment house and up a flight of stairs to the first floor.

Dean shoots him a glare that’s as full of pain as anger.

“Not now, Sam,” he hisses.

An old rotary-style telephone sits on a table in the middle of the first room they enter. As all five crew members gather around, it rings. Dean picks it up, puts the receiver to his ear, and listens.

Sam can feel the moment Dean’s surprise turns to confusion. “Robbie? Where’s Rich?”

Dean listens for another moment. When he looks up at Sam, his eyes are wide with horror, and Sam feels a jolt of fear zip up his spine.

“Rob, what have you done?”

“Oh no,” Ruthie murmurs.

“What’s happened?” Samantha asks, frowning.

Dean turns terrified eyes on her, cries out, “No, Robbie, don’t!” A split second before Samantha collapses like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

Dead.

“Listen to me, Robbie! You don’t have to do this!”

He raises his eyes to Chad, who shakes his head and mouths, “No” a moment before he collapses sideways in a heap on the floor.

“Fuck!” Dean shouts. Tears swarm in his eyes. He slams the phone into its cradle, glances at Ruthie before he lifts wild eyes to Sam. “We need to get out of here.”

Sam nods. This is familiar territory. Things go south, Sam and Dean find an alternative. It’s something they know how to do, or at least they did.

As they turn to leave the room, the phone rings. They exchange confused glances, then Dean returns to the table and picks up the phone.

A moment later they’re all waking up on the ship. Rich is holding his injured shoulder with one hand as he unplugs each of them one at a time. Chad and Samantha were already unplugged, of course. The bodies of Alona and Robbie lie on the floor at their feet, the rifle Alona obviously used to kill Robbie still clutched in her hands. Misha and Alex stand helplessly in a corner, observing the carnage with looks of devastation and horror.

“He said they were gonna plug him in again,” Rich says, nodding at Robbie’s body. “He said they promised to wipe his memories, make him God again.”

Sam stares. “They can do that?”

Dean stares down at Alona, clenches his jaw. “He killed her mother,” he says softly. “He made her watch.”

Sam sucks in a breath, steels himself. “What do we do now?”

“We have to unplug him,” Rich says, nodding at Mark. The captain sits peacefully in his loading chair, breathing normally, looking for all intents and purposes like he’s just sleeping.

His brain activity is off the charts, though. They can all see it on the monitor.

“They’ll try to extract the codes to Zion’s gates,” Rich explains. “All captains have those codes memorized.”

“He’s strong,” Dean insists. “He can resist them.”

“Not forever,” Rich says, shaking his head. “You and I both know that. They’ll break his mind eventually. It’s what they do.”

Dean stares at him in desperation and panic.

Sam puts a hand on his arm. “You’re not responsible.”

“I’m his first officer, Sam,” Dean growls. “I was supposed to protect him. That was my job.”

Ruthie leans in and kisses Mark on the cheek, patting him gently. “Goodbye, my boy,” she murmurs, tears in her eyes.

Rich reaches around to unplug Mark, but Dean grabs hold first. “I’ll do it,” he growls, choking back tears of his own.

Suddenly, Sam recalls Missouri’s prophecy.

“Wait!”

All eyes turn to Sam. Dean’s hand stays where it is, but he doesn’t squeeze the trigger to release the plug.

“Missouri told me this would happen,” Sam says. “She said I could save him.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t believe her, but now...” He crosses quickly to the adjacent loading chair, settles into it before he loses his nerve. “Send me back in,” he orders.

Rich scrambles to obey, but Dean stops him. “No way you’re going in alone,” he says. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, Dean!” Sam protests as Dean settles into the loading chair next to him. “This is your ship now. The crew needs you here!”

“I’m not letting you go in alone,” Dean repeats. “I’m coming with you and that’s final!”

Inside the Matrix, Sam and Dean load up all the weapons they can carry, drive the Impala to the front door of MIB headquarters, and blast their way inside. It’s noisy, messy, but effective because it’s never been done before. It’s not something the agents expect.

They find Mark on the thirteenth floor. He’s in bad shape, barely conscious, but he’s able to walk, able to make the jump to the waiting helicopter. When the three fugitives make their way to the rendezvous point, Mark goes home first.

Dean goes second because he’s wounded and Sam insists.

“See you on the other side, brother,” Dean growls as he picks up the pay phone receiver and disappears before Sam’s eyes, holding his gaze till the last possible second.

As Sam picks up the receiver for his turn he feels the little ripple in the air that tells him something’s changed.

He knows the line will be dead before he puts the receiver to his ear, knows there are agents in the building, knows they’ve found him.

He fights. He fights because he thinks maybe he can do some good. Maybe the Impala will have time to get away. Maybe Zion will survive.

He fights because Dean’s still alive, because as long as there’s an ounce of strength left in his body or soul, he’ll fight for Dean. He’ll fight so Dean can live. Dean believes in him, and he won’t let his brother down. He can’t.

Sam fights because he’s sick of being bossed around and treated like second-best, because he hates the way their father raised them, because his determination to make something different of his life won’t allow him to give up. 

Sam fights with everything he has, everything he’s learned, everything he believes.

He still loses, just as he knew he would. Just as he expected.

After the final race across rooftops and through windows, after Sam’s leaped and slid and moved faster than any human ever could, he finds himself back at Missouri’s door, hoping against hope that she’ll be there. That she’ll give him another cookie and assure him that everything will work out.

The door opens on an agent with a machine gun, of course.

As Sam dies, body riddled with bullets, he remembers Dean telling him, “You gotta let yourself go, Sammy. In here, you can do anything. All you have to do is believe you can.”

Sam’s pulse slows. He’s bleeding out. His heart beats slower and slower until it finally stops.

All is dark and quiet. But even in the darkness, Sam hears Dean’s voice, feels his faith.

“I know you can do this, Sam,” Dean says, his voice piercing the darkness and silence. “Missouri promised me that you would live. She promised!”

The desperation in Dean’s voice gives Sam the strength to push back. He won’t let the darkness take him because Dean will die if he does.

Sam can’t let that happen.

His resurrection isn’t something Sam thinks about until later. In the moment, all he thinks about is Dean. Dean’s the motivation that drives him, the thing that brings him gasping back to life, throwing himself into the flabbergasted agent in front of him, possessing him until he explodes.

Sam’s not aware of the moment when he becomes one with the machine, he just knows he’s doing it. He’s inside but also transcending it, creating something that exists beyond the boundaries of the Matrix. He’s something new.

“Sam!”

Sam gasps back to life on the loading chair on the Impala, Dean at his side, touching him everywhere, staring into his eyes with a reverence Sam’s pretty sure he doesn’t deserve.

“It’s easy, Dean,” he frowns, shaking his head. “I can teach you. It’s like a Rubix Cube.”

Dean’s mouth is warm and wet and desperate. Sam never knew he could feel this way. Their real bodies are infinitely more sensitive, more real, than those simulations they’d been living in.

“Dean.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Sammy, it’s me.”

But it’s Jensen, too. He’s Jared, the anomaly. The one who figured out how to take control, how to stop the monster — the artificial intelligence — from possessing him and using him.

Jared won’t be used. He was never a child. Never the baby who lost his mother in a tragic fire that turned out to be supernaturally caused. Never the youngest son of a possessive, obsessive former Marine who wouldn’t deviate from his need for vengeance long enough to raise his sons.

But Jared is still Sam, the younger brother of the hero who raised him, who survived because Sam was there to give him his purpose. His faith.

Of course the Winchesters’ moment is interrupted by fireworks and mayhem. They’re in the middle of a war. The sentinels have found them, since they’ve been in one place as long as possible to stay connected to the Matrix.

Afterwards, there are funerals. They’ve lost Alona and Samantha and Chad. Alex and Misha are bereft.

Rich is the only one who mourns Robbie.

“He was my best friend,” Rich says simply. “I’ll never understand why he did what he did, but I’ll miss him.”

When the ship docks in Zion and the crew goes ashore, Jared and Jensen stay behind on the ship, just the two of them.

“Later,” Jensen murmurs as he pushes Jared down on the single bunk in the infirmary. He pushes Jared’s shirts up over his head, pulls his sweatpants off, kissing and sucking every inch of skin as he exposes it.

Jared pulls the ribbon out of Jensen’s hair, runs his hands through the silky strands. He tugs on it as Jensen gets his mouth around the head of Jared’s dick and looks up at him.

“Fuck.” Jared throws his head back, bucks up into Jensen’s mouth. “Jensen.”

Jensen grins as he swallows Jared’s cock as far as he can, wraps his hand around the rest. He bobs his mouth up and down on Jared’s cock expertly while stroking the base with a sure rhythm, twirling his tongue around the head at the same time. It’s unlike anything Jared’s experienced before, the friction on his foreskin. Of course he’s uncircumcised. His body was grown in a test-tube. It’s a wonder he has a belly-button.

Jensen persists, giving Jared the blow job he never knew he needed, stroking Jared’s perineum and inner thighs with his free hand. When his finger touches Jared’s hole he comes hard. Jensen swallows his load, milking him through the aftershocks until Jared’s a boneless, shivering mess of overstimulated nerve endings.

“Oh my God,” he mumbles as Jensen chuckles. He lets Jared’s cock go but keeps his mouth on Jared’s skin, kissing down his inner thigh to his perineum, lifting Jared’s ass so he can push his tongue into Jared’s hole.

“Jensen.” Jared moans as Jensen licks and prods.

Jared grabs his legs, pulls them back so Jensen has more room to maneuver. He hears the snick of the lube bottle opening a moment before Jensen applies a lubed finger alongside his tongue, pushes it inside as Jared bears down.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Jensen croons. “Open up for me. Let me in.”

By the time Jensen slicks up his cock and pushes inside Jared’s willing body, he’s so open and loose he barely feels it. It doesn’t feel like a first time at all. Jensen leans down and kisses him, wet and sloppy, buried all the way to the hilt.

“You’re so beautiful, Jay,” he croons. “Knew it’d be perfect like this.”

Jared wraps his legs around Jensen’s waist as he starts to thrust, slowing down after a few thrusts so he can kiss Jared thoroughly again. He runs his hand over Jared’s nearly-bald head, grinning down at him from behind his own curtain of hair.

“You gonna grow it out, like Sam?” he asks.

“You want me to?” Jared blinks back the tears at the edges of his vision. Gazing up at the man who means everything to him, who raised him and nurtured him and believed in him even when he wasn’t sure of himsel, Jared’s so overwhelmed he fears he might cry.

“Sam Winchester cries when he has sex,” Dean used to tease him, and Sam had hated him as much as he loved him.

Now that he’s Jared, now that he’s been reborn into this new world, into his new life, the tears flow freely and he’s not even embarrassed.

Jensen leans down and kisses the moisture from his cheeks, fucks hard and fast until he catches his own orgasm. Jared watches as Jensen’s face goes still, as his body goes rigid the moment before he comes. Jared’s half-hard dick twitches in sympathy as he watches. He reaches up and tucks Jensen’s hair behind his ear, cups his cheek tenderly till Jensen huffs out a laugh, shivering as he comes down, drops onto the cot next to Jared.

“Well, that was good.”

“Hell, yeah,” Jared agrees, grinning.

Jensen nods, looks up at the ceiling. They’re surrounded by metal, dust, grime. The space is cramped and usually over-inhabited. It’s not exactly a luxury hotel, or even the dingy motels that the Winchesters usually stay in.

“So this is it for us,” Jared notes. “This is all we get.”

Jensen frowns, looks up at the ceiling, shrugs.

“At least we’re alive,” he notes.

Jared smiles, settling a little more comfortably in the bunk. He slides his arm around Jensen and pulls him close.

“Yeah, there’s that,” he says.

Jensen snuggles in, nothing like Dean. Dean would never snuggle. Dean would never let himself be the little spoon.

Jensen seems to like it.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” Jensen promises.

It’s like an order. Sleep, he’s saying, and Jared’s okay with that. He might be the rebellious younger brother who hates being told what to do, but Jensen understands. Jensen loves him.

Just like Dean does.

It’s gonna take a while to get used to being Jared, but Sam can do that. He’s got the rest of his life, after all.

Jared falls asleep to the sound of Jensen’s steady breathing, to the conviction that all’s right with the world.

Finally.


End file.
